


Gone Kid

by Jen27ny



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Peter Parker Whump, Secret Identity, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen27ny/pseuds/Jen27ny
Summary: Tony tries to mind his own business, he really does - but when he finds out someone sneaks into one of the rooms of the vacant Stark Tower, he gets curious. Especially when he sees the footage of said someone climbing the outside of the Tower by sticking to the smooth surface to reach the room on the 92nd floor. But when he finds the blood in that room, the concept of “minding his own business” is quickly thrown out of the window.That’s how Tony finds himself trying to befriend the costumed vigilante who comes and goes as he pleases and seems to have a talent for getting stabbed and - wait, how old is he?
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 94
Kudos: 1553
Collections: Finished111, love of marvel





	Gone Kid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts).



> Hi there!
> 
> This fic exists because of [this post](https://jen27ny.tumblr.com/post/190681349562/for-the-ask-game-gone-kid) that I just couldn't get out of my head. 
> 
> It's not beta-read, so the usual warnings apply. I'm not a native-speaker, I don't know where to put commas, I'm just trying my best, okay? 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Promise me.“

“Of course, honey.“

Pepper narrows her eyes. “The actual words, Tony.”

“Well, I basically already agreed to-“

“Say I promise to mind my own business.”

“Isn’t it enough that I already hold an, in my humble opinion, epic monologue about all my good intentions? Like New Year’s resolutions, only in the middle of March. And I won’t throw them out of the window after three weeks. Besides-“

_“I promise to mind my own business.”_

Tony tries very hard not to sigh. There’s a reason why he made Pepper CEO. Not only because he thought he was dying while also being busy flying around the world in a metal suit. “I promise to mind my own business.”

“And now like you actually mean it.”

“I _do_ mean it!”

“And I mean it when I say that I worry about you.” The unyielding look in her eyes softens as she steps closer, one of her hands automatically brushing his cheek, and raking through his hair. Tony melts into her touch, his tense muscles finally relaxing – just like always. “You have the talent to attract trouble like a magnet, Tony. And the annoying habit of getting involved in other people’s trouble, so you can ignore yours.”

“Guilty as charge.”

Pepper’s face hardens again, and if the light isn’t playing a trick on the genius right now, her eyes start to water. “I want this – _us_ – to be a long-term thing. I don’t want to go visit you on a graveyard because you got a stress-related heart attack. Especially if that stress could have been avoided by you not getting involved into other people’s business. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says, giving her a soft kiss, hoping to calm her fears. Making Pepper Potts cry is one of the most hideous crimes known to mankind, and he has done it often enough already. “I promise you, the only way I go to an early grave is by your hands when you finally snap and have enough of all my crap and strangle me.”

Despite her best efforts to keep the smile at bay, Tony can see it tucking at the corner of her lips, and he itches to kiss that corner, coaxing the smile onto her face. “You really think I would strangle you? And risk leaving my fingerprints at the crime scene?”

“Well, you would be wearing gloves, of course. We can’t risk you going to prison, you would rule that place and start a revolt.” Tony gives into his desire and kisses that damned corner of her mouth, successfully drawing the smile out into the open. “Now, I’m gonna take a shower before dinner. Wanna join me?”

* * *

For five weeks and three days – _thirty-eight days!_ – Tony manages to keep his promise. Which is phenomenal, if you ask him. A spot in the Guinness World Records worthy-phenomenal. For thirty-eight days, he’s only minding his own business. Iron Man only flies around the world when the rest of the team specifically ask him to come, not when he just decides he has to be part of that particular mission. Tony doesn’t comment on all the bullshit gadgets and technologies other companies throw onto the market, especially not the ones from Hammer Industries – which is also doing wonders for his publicity. And to show Pepper that he’s absolutely serious about only dying through her hands, he researches ways to obviate heart attacks. He even sends Helen Cho an email. Her reply is a dry _about time_ and a list of suggestions what to do, like eating healthy and doing more cardio.

So, really, can everyone please agree that he did a really good job at minding his own business?

The keyword in that sentence being _did_. Past tense. As in, not anymore.

And, honestly, it’s not even his fault he has to throw his mid-March resolution out of the window. It’s entirely the fault of the person who breaks into the old Avengers tower.

“ _Boss_ ,” FRIDAY chimes up one late evening – other people may call it the middle of the night, but whatever – and prompts Tony to look up from the Iron Man mask he’s working on, _“there is a breach at the Avengers tower.”_

“What?” After building that nice and quite expensive compound upstate, the tower basically lost its function. Pepper and Tony moved into a nice penthouse in Manhattan, the team spends their time at the compound or in their own places (but mostly at the compound because it has a movie room and a lap pool), so the tower has been cleared out and put up for sale. Negotiations are still ongoing, leaving the building vacant and without any use. Still, Tony kept a watered-down version of the original security system going, not too keen about the idea of anyone looking for old Avenger’s equipment. “Where are they exactly?”

_“In the previous common room on the 92 nd floor.”_ A blueish hologram of the tower pops up, the room in questions marked red.

Tony blinks. “How did they get in there? Did they manage to get the elevator working?”

_“They did not use the elevator, boss.”_

“Are you telling me they walked up 92 flights of stairs?”

_“No. They climbed the outside of the tower.”_

The genius scoffs, looking outside the window of his lab, watching the rain of the storm hitting the glass. “You know the drill, FRI. Pictures or it didn’t happen.”

Another holo-screen pops up, showing the security footage of the tower. When the AI said they climbed the outside of the tower, Tony imagined someone with the equipment of mountaineer. Or at least some kind of equipment. Not someone who is literally sticking to the glass front of the tower in the middle of a storm with only their hands and feet. For a second, Tony can only stare at the footage, zooming in to make sure his eyes aren’t playing some trick on him. “Are you pulling my leg here?”

_“I would never.”_

“We both know that’s not true.” FRIDAY remains silent, but Tony barely registers it. His thoughts are racing through his mind. He’s never seen something like that. Someone just sticking to slippery glass. They are wearing some kind of hoodie, unable to even make out a face. Are they wearing some kind of special gloves and shoes? Something that allows them to stick and haul themselves up 92 floors? “Do you still have eyes on the inside?”

_“You dismantled all my cameras.”_

“Right… any scans? Thermal images? Anything that lets us know what Sticky is doing in there?” The red dot on the hologram starts moving a bit, almost too little to actually see something. Tony remembers the room – it used to be the one room they all gathered around to relax after a mission, pizza boxes piling on the side table, a movie playing in the background nobody paid any attention to while the adrenalin slowly left their bodies, leaving them tired and unable to move a single muscle. Now, it’s completely empty, not one piece of furniture left. “What are they doing there?”

_“Based on my scans, I think they are just sitting on the ground.”_

“Why?”

_“You did not install any scans that can read minds into my system, boss.”_

“Enough with the sass.” If silence could be sassy, FRIDAY’s silence sure is. There’s a significant part of him that wants to suit up, fly over there, and find out what’s going on. But they’re not really… doing anything. Just sitting in an empty room in an empty tower. They haven’t even damaged the window they sneaked into if FRIDAY’s scans are accurate. Which they always are.

And he promised to mind his own business. No matter how curious he is about someone climbing up the side of the tower with no equipment. But he promised Pepper, and Tony at least always tries to make an effort to keep them.

“Let me know when they’re leaving,” he orders his AI, turning back to his gauntlet, trying to ignore the bright red dot in the hologram. When the storm eases up, the intruder leaves the tower, climbing down the same way they entered it. Tony tells himself it’s none of his business. It’s not his problem.

* * *

For the next two weeks, the intruder visits the tower three more times, always late at night, always climbing up the side, always just sitting there, doing nothing. So, Tony ignores it – but when he has to go to the tower anyway for a routine maintenance check, can you really blame him for going up to the 92nd floor?

The room is only illuminated by the sunlight that shines through the window. Tony taps the frame of his glasses, activating FRIDAY. “Scan the room for me, please. Just want to make sure they didn’t plant some bombs or whatever.”

While he strolls through the room, he sees FRIDAY working. _“I cannot detect any devices that would point to a bomb or similar threats.”_

Tony hums, taking the room in, looking for any clue to what the intruder might’ve done here. Then, he almost steps into it, only noticing the puddle right in front of his feet in the last second. “Is that… blood?” he asks, kneeling down to look at the red fluid that looks surprisingly fresh.

_“It appears to be.”_

“Why are they bleeding onto my tower?” For a second, Tony hesitates before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping some of the blood on it, carefully folding it in a way so no blood would spill on his suit, and pocketing it again, trying not to think about how gross that is. Oh, the things he does to satisfy his curiosity.

Also, there’s no way Tony is able to just ignore this. Not when someone is bleeding in his tower, and still being able climb up said tower.

_“Boss, go to the window.”_

Tony follows the order of the AI, forgoing the sassy comment about her ordering him around in favor of investigating the window. It’s the one the intruder always enters through, and he finds what the AI is talking about quick enough. “What’s that?” He pulls out a pen from his pocket and pokes the white, web-like substance that sticks to the window sill. It also sticks to his pen quite a lot.

_“It seems like some sort of spider web.”_

“A spiderweb. Blood. Climbing up the side of the tower. Sounds like a fun mystery to me.”

_“I am sure Miss Potts would not see it that way. You promised her to mind your own business.”_

“Well, technically, it’s still my tower, so it is my business. This is clearly a security breach. A threat I have to take seriously. Now, back to the lab. We have some tests to run.”

Back in his lab, Tony analyzes the blood and the web that stuck to the pen. The results make it completely impossible for him to mind his own business. The blood is 98% human and 2% spider, which brings up _so many_ questions.

The web is a piece of art. Once every blue moon, Tony sees something that really makes him want to find the person who thought of that and ask how they did it, how they figured that out – this is one of those times. The genius is – mostly – sure that the web is not biological, that someone engineered them in a lab or somewhere. It would take a chemistry expert to come up with that combination.

Tony has to absolutely meet that person, whoever they are. “FRIDAY, search the internet. Anything about someone sticking to buildings and these webs.”

_“On it.”_

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the AI too long to find something. Turns out, someone has been swinging throughout Queens. Literally. Tony watches the videos kind of dumbstruck. There’s someone in what looks like a bright red and blue onesie with a painted spider in the front and a seriously ridiculous mask who swings from building to building, shooting webs, flipping through the air like gravity doesn’t apply to them at a speed that makes Tony dizzy, and catches a car with his bare hands. The people of Queens call him Spider-Man.

Oh, he’s going to meet that spider, no matter what.

* * *

_“Boss, Spider-Man is back at the tower.”_

With a new boost of energy, Tony jumps up from his chair. “Well, no time to lose then, right?” The Iron Man suit is already assembling around him, face plate sliding into place as he reaches the window, and he flies off.

The flight from the penthouse to the tower is short, seeing that they’re both in Manhattan, and how fast Tony can fly. He enters through the same window Spider-Man always uses, landing in the room with a _thud_. “Hey there, Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man doesn’t seem happy to see Iron Man standing in the middle of the room. Before Tony can really register the movement, the vigilante jumps to the ceiling, sticking to it like it’s completely natural to him, and moves back into the corner that’s furthest away from him, making him as small as possible.

“ _There is blood on the floor_ ,” FRIDAY points out before Tony can say anything. His eyes flicker down to the dark red spot on the ground, and FRIDAY also points out that there seems to be fresh blood on Spider-Man’s costume.

“I noticed that you like to hang out here,” Tony says, carefully stepping closer. He’s seen the videos of Spider-Man plenty of times, knowing how strong he has to be to catch a moving car with such ease. Should he decide to attack, Tony could be in serious trouble. “Thought it’s about time I stop by and say hi. Heard that’s what good landlords do. I mean, normally landlords know when someone stays at their place, but whatever, right?”

Spider-Man doesn’t say anything and stays in the corner. Blood is slowly dripping from him to the floor. The soft splashing noise makes Tony squirmy, the need to do something overwhelming – so, he gives in. “As much as I like red,” he says, continuing to move forward, retracting the helmet in hope of gaining the spider’s trust by showing a human face, “I prefer it when it comes from a bucket of paint, not a human. How about we fix that wound of yours?”

It happens so fast, Tony barely registers it. One second, he’s reaching out to Spider-Man, trying to coax him down from the ceiling, and in the next second his arm is bound to his body with a web, while something red and blue flashes past him, escaping through the window before Tony has the chance to even turn his head.

For a long moment, he just stands there, looking from the webs around his body to the two puddles of blood on the floor and back. “Well,” Tony eventually says, carefully cutting the webs around him with his glove, “that went surprisingly catastrophic.”

* * *

“Honey bear, how do I befriend animals?”

“Did you seriously call me in the middle of a meeting with the Pentagon to ask me about _animals_?”

“Of course I did, keep up. And stop trying to dodge my question. What do I have to do to gain an animals trust?”

“Tones, I’m a soldier, not a zookeeper.”

“Don’t you get some emergency training for what happens when you’re lost in a jungle or something?”

“They don’t teach you how to go full-on Disney and get animals as your sidekicks.”

“So, you’re saying I should sing to them?”

“ _Why_ do you want to befriend an animal? And why don’t you just ask FRIDAY about it?”

“Oh, she’s rebelling right now, saying I should just drop it.”

“That’s… not really convincing me to help you.”

“C’mon. Let’s brainstorm. Now that singing is out- Is it out? Should I try singing?”

“Please, for the love of God, do _not_ sing. You would probably scare that poor animal off even more.”

“Rude.”

“What kind of animal are we talking about, anyway? A stray cat or something?”

“Or something. Focus, Platypus. What do I have to do?”

“Well, it’ll take time. You have to be patient.”

“Yeah, I’m not good at that.”

“Trust me, _I know_. Just… let it get used to your presence, I guess. Maybe try baiting it with food? Have you ever seen the videos of people rescuing stray dogs and taking them to a shelter?”

“No, Pepper forbids it. She thinks I’ll just adopt all of them.”

“She’s a smart woman.”

“Indeed, she is. But stay focus. Food, what else?”

“Time and patience.”

“I already told you that’s not going to work.”

“Well, throwing money at an animal isn’t working, either. Or building it some fancy equipment.”

“You know what, Rhodey, you just gave me an idea.”

“I don’t like that tone. At all. What’s going on in your head? Wait. We _are_ talking about an animal, right?”

“Yeah. Of course. I mean, if you want to be a nitpicker, it’s only 2% animal, but that’s trivial.”

“Tony-“

“Thanks for your help, honey bear, love you so much, pay attention in your important meeting! Bye!”

* * *

Tony doesn’t place some cash into the Tower for Spider-Man to take. He also isn’t setting up high-tech equipment up there (he is, however, designing a more professional looking suit for the spider right now), but he does set something else up. A camp bed with a soft blanket and a pillow, and a box with everything a superhero might need. First and foremost, stuff to patch up a wound, pain killers, as well as really strong pain killers that were made for people like Steve Rogers (labelled as _the strong stuff_ ), because Tony has his doubts normal medicine works on that spider, and some food and water. There’s also a card with his phone number and the words _for emergencies_.

Now, Tony has to wait. Which, honestly, is hell. Literally. He’s not good at waiting. It’s even worse that he knows Spider-Man is still swinging around in Queens. FRIDAY has tabs on him, getting alerts from almost every website there is if someone even mentions the words _spider_ , _man_ , and _Queens_ in one sentence. But Tony keeps waiting, trying to distract himself by eating healthy and doing more cardio.

For almost three weeks nothing happens. Tony is _this_ close to flying to Queens and demand answers from Spider-Man. That idea crosses his mind at least once every hour he’s awake. Then, something does happen – and Tony kind of wishes that nothing kept on happening.

_“Spider-Man just entered the tower,”_ FRIDAY says one late night. Tony was actually about to head to bed – how about that, in bed before midnight even though Pepper is in Hong Kong right now, who is saying that he can’t take care of himself? – but the AI’s words stop him. He thought about adding more cameras when he dropped the box and the cot off, but decided against it. Rhodey and a quick internet search kept mentioning trust. Adding more surveillance isn’t really that great for trust.

“Okay,” Tony answers, absentmindedly snapping his fingers and trying to figure out what to do, “okay. Great to know he’s not dead.”

_“I think he might be dead soon, boss.”_

“What?” Okay, bedtime is canceled. “Next time, lead with that, FRI. What’s going on over there?”

A hologram of a thermal imagine pops up. “ _According to my scans, there is a large amount of blood leaving his body. Spider-Man does not move.”_ There’s an orange-y lump on the hologram, one side of it growing at a slow but steady pace.

Tony is in his suit and on his way to the tower before he can think twice about it. Not that he would ever think twice about what to do in a situation like this. He makes it to the tower in record time, eyes zeroing in on the body that lays on the cold floor immediately. One hand is reaching for the box, only about two feet away from it. Behind his back, there’s a pool of blood.

“FRIDAY, scan him,” Tony orders, stepping out of the suit, and slipping on his glasses to see what the AI is seeing. For a second, the genius is completely overwhelmed, not knowing where to start. Oh God, there’s _so_ much blood.

_“The wound is located on his side. It appears to need stitches.”_

“Taking him to a hospital would take too long,” Tony mutters, his brains finally working again. It takes him two steps to reach the box, grapping everything he needs to stitch a wound up and dress it properly, grateful that Sam and Rhodey force the team to monthly first aid training.

Kneeling down next to Spider-Man, Tony hesitates again for a split second. Then, he’s reminded of the blood and rolls up the… is it a hoodie? A vest? Whatever it is, he rolls it up, revealing even more blood and what looks like a deep stabbing wound. At once, a million scenarios in which Spider-Man gets stabbed fill Tony’s head, making him lose focus for a second.

Is it too late to start minding his own business again?

Yes, it is. Way too late.

With the help of FRIDAY, stitching Spider-Man up doesn’t take too long. By the time Tony is finished and moved the vigilante to the cot, his hands and shirt are covered in blood. The billionaire doesn’t really care, though. He settles on the ground, careful to avoid the pool of blood, eyes on the cot and the person in it.

It would be incredible easy to just pull that mask off and see who’s underneath it. Tony assumes Spider-Man is male because of his figure and Spider- _Man_ , but he really doesn’t know anything for sure. He guesses the vigilante is on the younger side, but, again, that’s only a speculation. However, he makes no move to remove the mask. He wants to wait until Spider-Man wants to take the mask off around him.

So, Tony focuses on a different question that is not a whit better.

“Doesn’t he have a place where he can get help?” Tony asks after a while.

_“He came here,”_ FRIDAY answers, soft enough to not wake the sleeping superhero.

“Yeah, but he didn’t know I would come. Doesn’t he have someone who could stitch him up? Who would make sure he lives?” The AI doesn’t answer, which doesn’t help Tony’s imagination at all. He sees a faceless figure in an empty apartment, all alone. His heart starts to ache.

After about an hour of waiting and worrying, Spider-Man starts to wake up. Tony notices it immediately because he’s been watching him with hawk eyes, ready to jump into action should his chest stop rising and falling. The vigilante starts to move, flinching when he pulls on his wound. “Hey, careful,” Tony says, reaching out one hand, “that wound isn’t healed yet.”

Spider-Man whips his head around, looking straight at Tony like he hasn’t noticed him before. For a second, Tony thinks he might jump back onto the ceiling, but he just keeps staring at him. At least Tony thinks he’s staring at him. Those black goggles give nothing away.

“Yeah, hi, it’s me, Tony,” he introduces himself, “and I would really appreciate it if you just lay still. I don’t want to stitch you up again. Once a night is enough, don’t you think?” Tony imagines Spider-Man blinking behind those goggles, before he tries to sit up, clearly ignoring Tony’s wishes. “C’mon, what did I just say?” Despite his harsh words, Tony dashes forward and helps him sit up. To his surprise, Spider-Man lets him.

Tension fills the room. Tony doesn’t do tension – but, apparently, neither does Spider-Man. His hand moves to his mask, as if to make sure it’s still there. “Don’t worry, I didn’t sneak a peek underneath that.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Figured there’s a reason you’re wearing that mask. Everyone is entitled to a few secrets, right? Of course, I know nothing about secrets. Totally unable to keep one. The press always knew everything about my life. But, anyway – secrets. Look, if you don’t want me to know who you are, that’s fine. I can’t make you do that. But I really don’t want to read an article about a spider that bled to death in some alley or anything, so, _please_. If you need help or anything, come here. I promise there will always be everything you might need if you’re wounded, as well as my number if you can’t do it yourself. I won’t ask questions - … well, okay, that’s a lie, I will ask questions, but if you don’t want to answer them, it’s fine. I will accept it. With a lot of complaining, but I will accept it nonetheless.”

Spider-Man keeps staring at him silently. Tony starts to feel nervous which is very new. There are not a lot of people who make him nervous. “I’ve watched those videos on YouTube. I’ve read the tweets and other stuff about you. You’re helping people, you’re doing good. The world needs more people like you. But, _please_ , to spare me the heart attack, do it safely, okay? Look after yourself. Because nobody else will.”

Tony ignores the voice at the back of his head that sounds a lot like a certain AI with an Irish accent that _he_ looks after Spider-Man.

Then, to Tony’s honest surprise, Spider-Man slowly pulls the mask off his face, wincing when he strains his stabbing wound again. Tony barely notices the wince, too busy staring at Spider-Man. He blinks, thinking his tired brain tries to trick him. But it doesn’t.

Spider-Man turns out to be Spider-Kid. An actual kid. “What the hell?” Tony whispers. “You’re a _child_!”

“I’m almost fifteen,” Spider-Kid says, a blush across his otherwise pale face.

“Fourteen,” Tony repeats, getting the strength back into his voice, “you’re fourteen.” Spider-Kid nods. A terrible feeling fills Tony’s chest. “Oh God. Oh no. I figured you’d be young, but I hoped you would at least be old enough to drive. Or vote. Or _drink_.” Tony wants to burry his face into his hands, before he remembers they are still stained in blood. The blood of a _child_. He thinks he might throw up.

Spider-Kid pulls his eyebrows together in anger. “Why does it matter how old I am? You just said I do good.”

“No, I take that back. All of what I just said. You’re not doing good, you’re doing _terrible_. Because you should be in school, trying to scrape together the courage to ask your crush out, and complain about your homework or parents or teachers, and worry about getting the latest smartphone or sneakers or some shit – not going out almost every night and getting stabbed!”

Spider-Kid doesn’t like that at all. He stands up from the cot, only swaying a little bit – which is enough to almost replace the anger inside Tony with worry. A kid got stabbed. A _kid_! Who stabs a kid? No wonder the vigilante wears a mask. “Hey, take it easy there.”

“Why do you care?” Spider-Kid asks, confident because of his anger. “You can’t tell me what to do and what not to do. It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business the second you broke into my tower.” His mouth is open again, but Tony doesn’t let him finish. “Why did you come here anyway?”

There’s a second of hesitation that tells Tony the Spider-Kid is about to lie. “It was close.”

“Really? You were out in Queens, doing your spider-thing, got stabbed, and came all the way to Manhattan because it was _close_?” He doesn’t answer, but his eyes dart to the window he usually enters through. Before he can make a move, Tony gets into the way, making himself as tall and big as possible. Spider-Kid glares at him. Or tries to, at least. He’s not very good at it. Maybe that’s actually why he wears a mask. Nobody would be intimidated by that face. “Kid, I was serious about those stitches. Sit back down. Let’s talk.”

“You mean you’re going to yell at me again.” However, Spider-Kid sits down. Tony joins him on the cot, but not before getting two protein bars, a bottle of water from the box, and some painkillers (the strong ones) from the box, handing them to the kid.

“Excuse me for caring about the well-being of a child,” Tony snarks back. The kid ignores him, opting to take the painkillers and a sip of water. Tony takes a second to examine him. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but the kid seems young even for fourteen. Again, he wonders what urged him to come here, to the tower. Doesn’t he have a family? Parents? He’s a minor, there has to be someone who’s responsible for him, even if it’s a foster parent or a guardian or whoever. But maybe his home-situation isn’t that great? Is that why he keeps going out as Spider-Man? To distract himself? “I got to know why you’re doing this, kid.”

Spider-Kid gives him a side glance. “Why?”

“Because depending on that answer, I will decide whether I call Child Protective Services or not.”

The kid grimaces, not liking that answer either. To distract himself, he tugs at the label of the water bottle, but Tony keeps quiet. He wants to know the answer to this particular question, so he has to be patient. No matter how much he despises being patient.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the kid answers him. His voice is soft, frail even, and Tony kind of wants to wrap the blanket around him, shove those protein bars down his throat, and call an actual doctor to check up on that wound. “I got these powers a couple of months ago,” he explains, eyes glued to the water bottle that is now label free. “I got the power to help people now. And… When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”

Oh, damn. Tony did not expect an answer that would resonate so much with him. Because he immediately knows what that kid is trying to say – because Tony’s mind works the exact same way. How can he demand from him to stop when he uses the same reason to step into his armor every other night?

It also makes him wonder what happens in the kid’s life that he desperately wants to stop bad things from happening.

Suddenly, Tony feels _so_ tired. And old. But maybe that’s just because his current company isn’t even old enough to drive yet. He should really stop thinking about the kid’s age. It’s not good for his heart.

“What’s your name?” Tony eventually asks into the silence of the room. Spider-Kid looks up to him as if he doesn’t understand the question. “Your name. You have one, right? Mine’s Tony.”

“I know who you are, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, so you do. I was beginning to wonder.”

Spider-Kid snorts. “It’s kinda impossible to _not_ know who you are.”

“You’re doing wonders to my ego right now, kid.” Spider-Kid makes no comment, so Tony just continues. “I just want to help you.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“No, you just broke into my tower.” The next words are like poison, but Tony forces them out anyway. “But if you don’t want my help, I’m not forcing it on you.” Spider-Kid whips his head around again, like he can’t believe what he just heard. Tony doesn’t blame him. Not forcing his help onto other people is very unlike him. However, the advice he read up on keeps ringing in his head. Trust. Patience. Time. Let him get used to you. Let him come to you instead of the other way around. “Before you bleed somewhere to death, you’re welcome to come here to take care of your wounds. That box over there will always be stocked. I’ll make sure the private elevator – that one over there – is functioning, just in case you’re in no shape to climb up the front.”

Spider-Kid blinks at him. “That-That’s it? Just like that?”

“Well, obviously, there’s a lot more I want to do, but…” Tony doesn’t finish his sentence and shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant. He’s not quite sure if he nails that. “Rest up. I’m serious about those stitches.”

“I heal fast.”

“That’s not very comforting.” Tony steps into his suit. “See you around, kid.” He doesn’t hear his answer as he flies away. Replaying their conversation over and over in his head, he’s not quite sure if it really was successful. He found out Spider-Man is a kid; a very stubborn, noble, brave kid, but still a kid. He’s gotten no name from him, he tries not to picture the kid in some bad household or some similar nightmare. And he prays to all the gods he doesn’t believe in that he’s not going to read about a kid bleeding to death in some alley.

* * *

Tony keeps his promise. The box is always stocked with medical supplies, food, and water. A drone checks on it daily, delivering the missing items if necessary. The private elevator is working, even though Spider-Kid doesn’t really use it. Yes, the kid doesn’t actually avoid the tower like the plague now. And Tony doesn’t stop by. Which is killing him. It really is. Because it would be so easy to fly over there and demand some answers.

But that’s counterproductive. Because trust, patience, time, and all that.

Tony _really_ hates it.

Then, there’s an anomaly.

The kid always stops by the tower at night, since he’s probably – _hopefully_ – at school in the morning. But one day, almost three weeks after their little talk, FRIDAY informs Tony that the kid entered the tower. At 10:34 am. On a Wednesday. Through the private elevator. Tony is in the middle of a SI meeting when he gets the news, so concentrating on whatever the other suits are saying is a concept that’s immediately thrown out of the window.

He’s not thinking about trust or time or really anything – just a kid that suddenly ditches school to hang out in an empty tower. The second his meeting is over, Tony darts out of the building, jumping into his Audi and speeding to the tower. The underground garage is as empty as expected, so it really doesn’t matter that he parks absolutely terrible. Tony doesn’t have to press a single button for the doors of the elevator to open, FRIDAY already did all the work. The ride up is short, but right now, it feels way too long until the doors open again, and Tony can step out into the empty room.

There’s no Spider-Kid lying on the floor, bleeding to death. That’s good. Tony can literally feel some of the tension disappear from between his shoulders. There is, however, a child-sized lump under the blanket on the cot, only the tips of his brown hair peaking out. A book bag lays forgotten on the floor.

“Playing hooky?” Tony asks loudly as he steps closer, wanting to make sure that Spider-Kid knows he’s here. “Y’know, if I knew backing off would lead to you-“

“Go,” says a muffled, but firm voice from underneath the blanket.

Tony pauses, blinking a few times. Did… Did the kid just tell him to go? “Excuse me?”

The lump bends inward, making itself even smaller. “Please go,” he repeats.

“I don’t think so,” Tony answers, suddenly irritated. He thought the kid might be dying or doing whatever – and now he’s telling him to go? “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“Please, Mr. Stark, I just-“ There’s a noise that could be a groan or a sob. Tony stops dead in his tracks, unsure what to do. “Please just go.”

The billionaire doesn’t go, but he doesn’t move forward either. The longer he looks at the blanket, the more certain he gets that the kid is shivering underneath it. His eyes wander to the bag on the ground. High School is not easy, Tony knows that. Okay, he might not have the most experience with High Schools, seeing that he spent about a year in one, but still. Kids can be cruel, especially to other kids.

Or maybe it’s not kids he’s running away from. Again, the clawing question why the kid chooses to go to a vacant tower instead to a warm home for help crosses his mind. And once again, his mind offers him the absolute worst-case scenarios as answers.

Suddenly, he feels like an asshole. Which is nothing new, but he tries to not be an asshole around kids who are clearly going through something. (And could easily throw him out of the window, but that’s beside the point.)

“Are you-… Is everything okay?” Tony asks instead, unable to keep the worry and concern out of his voice.

“Yes,” he answers, not sounding okay at all. “Go. _Please_.”

Tony wants to stay, wants to help – but maybe the only way he really can help is by leaving. Again, he can’t force his help onto the kid, no matter how much he wants to. That’s not how trust works.

Despite every atom in his body telling him to stay, Tony takes a few steps back to the elevator. “Okay, I leave,” he says. There’s no answer from the lump. “But my number is in the box. In case you want to… In case you need me.” Still no answer. Tony tells himself that he’s not hurt or disappointed by it.

Back in his car, Tony doesn’t drive off immediately. Instead, he just sits there for a few minutes, staring blankly at the grey wall of the garage. “FRIDAY, do you think I should call any authorities?”

_“Why, boss?”_

“Well, something has to be going on, right? What if-… What if he comes here because he literally has no other place to go? No one to look after him? No one who cares that he gets hurt every other night?”

_“In that case, I would advice to call the proper authorities. However, I do believe it would destroy the trust you built.”_

Tony can’t help but snort, rubbing his eyes tiredly. God, he needs a coffee. Or, like, ten. Yeah, ten sounds good. “But _does_ he trust me? He just told me to leave, multiple times. I don’t even know his name.”

_“He took his mask off in front of you.”_

“Yeah, and now I can’t stop thinking about a _child_ fighting crime.” He sighs, wondering when his life became so complicated. Pepper has been right; of course, she has been, she’s Pepper, she’s almost always right. He should’ve just minded his own business. “I hate this entire waiting thing.”

_“Boss, according to my database, you are doing unusually well.”_

“Really uplifting, FRI. Amazing pep talk. Thanks. I’m feeling so much better already.” Trying – and failing – to ignore the bad, burning feeling settling in his stomach, Tony starts the engine and drives off.

* * *

Everyone knows Tony is a fan of rock music, fast cars, movies, and everything modern. However, sometimes he actually enjoys more classical types of entertainment. Just because he doesn’t go to the opera every evening, doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it from time to time. Especially if Pepper is with him on a private balcony, looking absolutely stunning in a dress that she hopefully bought with his money. Besides, he also likes to dress up himself. Now that he’s flying around the world in a metal suit, a tux feels like a nice change, occasionally.

It figures that it’s a night like this when everything goes to hell.

They’re in the middle of the soprano’s solo when Tony’s phone starts to ring. Pepper gives him a very unimpressed side glance, and Tony fumbles with the device to decline the call – until he sees the number. An unknown number. There are not a lot of people who can get access to his private phone number.

Mumbling a quick apology, he steps out into the hallway and answers the call. “Who’s this?”

“I-I-It’s Peter,” a weak voice says, barely loud enough to be heard above the lilting music.

“Who?”

“Shit, sorry, I never-…” A cough. Or maybe a sob. Tony can’t decide, but his blood pressure goes up. “Spider-Man.”

Now, his blood pressure drops. Hard. Tony is lucky that he’s alone in the hallway so nobody can witness how ghostly white he turns in a matter of nanoseconds.

His name is Peter.

“I-I’m sorry to call, but-but you said I should when I need help and-“ More strangled noises. Tony taps his watch twice, activating FRIDAY, who’s already working on tracking the phone call. “I need help.”

“Of course. What do you need me to do?”

“I-I’ve been stabbed. Again.” This time, it’s definitely a sob. Tony tries to keep his focus, and not think about a fourteen-year-old kid bleeding somewhere. “But they got my leg, too, and I can’t- I can’t get up, and I don’t know-“

Finally, FRIDAY pinpoints the exact location from the phone. Tony’s mind is racing a hundred miles a minute. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way,” he tries to calm the kid – _Peter_ – down, while sending a drone to get medical supplies to a certain alley in Queens. “I’ll be with you in just a few minutes, okay? You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Peter doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sobs once more and hangs up. Tony is moving before the panic can really settle into his bones and paralyze him. He darts back onto the balcony, and whispers to Pepper: “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“What?” she whispers back, turning towards him, looking very unpleased. “We have these tickets for months, Tony.”

“It’s the opera. There’s singing, someone falls in love, someone dies, and even more singing.” Pepper looks like she wants to say something else, but he doesn’t have time for this right now. There’s an injured kid somewhere in Queens, crying, waiting for Tony to help him. “It’s a life or death situation, Pepper. I have to go.”

“Okay,” she says; this time, without any hesitation but a look of worry on her face. “Okay. Go. Let me know when you’re coming home.”

Tony gives her a quick peck, before he runs off again. The Iron Man suit is back at his penthouse, and Tony curses himself for not finally being able to carry a suit with him all the time. He heads to his car, jumping into it and speeding off before even putting his belt on. FRIDAY makes sure he doesn’t have to stop at any red lights on his way, which, okay, is probably – definitely – illegal, but there’s a child most likely bleeding to death somewhere. Tony is more than willing to break a few laws to help him.

The drive to the alley in Queens feels way too long, even though Tony arrives three minutes prior to his estimated time of arrival. Again, his parking is absolutely horrible and Tony is quite sure a lot of people will complain, but he simply doesn’t care right now. Almost falling over his own feet in his hurry to get out of the car, Tony enters the alley, looking for the familiar costume of the spider themed vigilante. What he notices first, however, is the trail of blood that leads behind a dumpster. “Peter?” Tony calls out, jogging up to that dumpster.

Leaning against the brick wall sits Peter. His face is pale, there are not-quite-dried tears on his cheeks, eyes still red – and blood. Blood coming from somewhere on his midriff, and from a long gash on his leg. Some of his webs are glued to the leg, as if he tried to stop the bleeding, but the usually white web is already colored a dark red. Peter looks up to him with wide, terrified eyes, trying to get some words out but choking on them. “It’s okay,” Tony says, dropping next to him on the dirty ground and laying a hand on his shoulder, “it’s okay. I’m here, you’re going to be fine, Peter.”

“I didn’t-I didn’t know they both had a knife,” Peter explains, one hand still pressed against his stomach. Tony checks his watch unobtrusively – the drone should arrive any second now. “And-and I tried to stop the bleeding with my webs but-“

“The acid in them isn’t really pleasant on an open wound,” Tony finishes the sentence. Peter only nods, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “We’ll get all of this fixed up, okay? You’ll be fine, back to swinging through the city in no time.” Peter keeps trembling, not really reacting to anything Tony says. Out of an instinct Tony didn’t know he had until now, he puts a hand on his cheek, guiding it up, so he can look into his eyes. “Hey, I promise. You _will_ be fine, kiddo.”

Slowly, Peter nods, and in that exact moment, the drone lands next to them. Tony can’t wait for it to land, grabbing the box out of the air and getting to work. Peter – after taking two of the strong painkillers – tries to stay as still and silent as he can, but Tony can clearly see him flinch and swallow down screams of pain. While he works on stitching up the wound on his stomach and his leg, cutting away the webs and almost gagging at the sight of that leg, Tony keeps on rambling, reassuring Peter that everything will be fine, and that the pain will go away soon, and it’s not even that bad. 

“There you go, all fixed up,” Tony says as he wraps up the bandage around Peter’s leg. The boy nods, tears rolling down his cheeks again, face pale, but FRIDAY reassures him that he’s not in danger of dying anymore. “You should probably see a doctor.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, please. It’ll be healed in a few days, I don’t need to see a doctor.”

“Peter –“

“I just want to go home.” Somehow, that sentence stuns Tony into silence. It’s the first time Peter ever mentioned a home, and without his consent, all the terrible scenarios start invading Tony’s head again. However, they come to a sudden stop when the boy looks up to him. “Can you please take me home?”

There’s no way he can say no to that. A part of Tony is concerned about him doing everything the kid asks of him without thinking twice about it, but then he’s too focused on helping the boy into his car to really concentrate on that worry. The address Peter tells him is only a few minutes away from the alley. Tony immediately wonders if he’d been on his way home when he got stabbed.

Somehow, they manage to reach the apartment Peter lives in with close to no attention to them. Which is quite a feat, considering Tony is Tony Stark, dressed in a tux that is stained in blood, and Peter is in his Spider-Man costume that basically everyone in Queens knows. There’s a _out of order_ sign on the elevator, but after a quick scan from FRIDAY, it turns out the elevator is anything but out of order, which is quite a relief when you have to carry a teenage boy up seven floors.

When they reach the door, Peter fumbles with getting his keys (is it really that great of an idea to carry them around in your superhero costume?), and Tony anxiously awaits what he’s going to see. For weeks, he’s been wondering what the home Peter grew up in would look like. Cold? Unloving? Some kind of secret drug lab that he wants to escape by solving crime and feeling like he’s doing something good?

Not one of his darkest fantasies could prepare him for what he sees when he steps into the apartment.

A warm, a bit chaotic, but loving home. There are pictures on the wall, so many you can barely see the wallpaper underneath it. It’s surprisingly warm, and the lingering smell of freshly cooked food is still in the air. Potted plants are standing in every other corner, books fill out a giant bookcase, hoodies and jackets are thrown over almost every furniture there is, hand-written notes stick to the fridge and the mirror in the hallway. It’s nothing at all what Tony imagined. Which makes him so much more confused. Why does he go to a cold, vacant tower when he could come here for comfort?

Peter isn’t noticing his confusion, and instead tries to move forward, forcing Tony to move with him, seeing as his arm is still around his shoulder to support his weight. He leads them to a room that’s even more chaotic than the rest of the apartment. For one, there’s a bunk bed, which already pretty insane in Tony’s humble opinion. There are more framed posters on the wall than there are photos in the hallway – posters of Star Wars, the Avengers, and two Iron Man posters. Lego Star Wars models are covering the shelves. Textbooks (and a few other scientific books, as well as Tony’s and Bruce Banner’s biographies) and notebooks are spread out on a desk and the floor. There’s a pile of clothes on a chair in the corner. Circuit boards and other electric devices are stacked over each other. The entire room basically screams chaotic teenager.

Peter shuffles forward until he flops onto his bed, groaning in pain. That breaks Tony out of his shock. “You should probably change clothes. And rest that leg on a pillow or something.”

“I’m not changing with you in the room,” Peter says, but doesn’t complain when Tony shoves a pillow under his injured leg.

“Well, suit yourself. I just personally think the entire covered in blood type of look isn’t really that great.”

An awkward silence fills the room. But, as already established, neither of them is really great with silence. “Thank you for bringing me here,” Peter eventually says, starting to fidget with his sleeves, and looking anywhere but at him, “and for patching me up.”

“Of course, buddy,” Tony answers, opting to lean against the only free space in the room; the edge of the desk. “I told you to call me if you need my help.”

“Yeah, but I… I guess I didn’t really think you would actually come.”

“So, you think I would just ignore it when a fourteen-year-old tells me he’s bleeding to death in an alley?” Tony’s tone is way harsher than he wants it to be, but something about his words really irks the genius. “I thought you knew me better. After all, you obviously read my biography.”

Peter blushes, eyes still cast downward. “I haven’t been especially nice to you.”

“Yeah, telling me to leave even though I just wanted to check up on you, for example.”

The boy grimaces, meeting Tony’s gaze for a second. Somehow, the anger that slowly built up inside his chest crumbles the seconds he looks into those large, brown eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

For a few seconds, it doesn’t look like Peter would actually answer Tony. Then, he says: “When I got my powers, they got rid of all my allergies and my asthma, and they sharpened all my senses. But sometimes, they’re too sharp, like they’re dialed up to eleven. It usually happens when I’m hurt or something, like my body tries to notice everything around me, just in case there’s another attack. However, it happens on normal days, too. Then everything is just… too much. Too loud, too bright, too smelly.”

“So, you go to the one place in the city that’s actually quite.” Suddenly, the scales fell from Tony’s eyes. The tower has the best soundproofing in the entire city by far. The only light comes through the window, and there’s nothing in there that could smell. Peter came to the tower that day to calm down his senses, not because he was dealing with some personal crisis. Another realization pops up in his head. “And me being there, having a heartbeat and wearing cologne, wasn’t helping.”

A bit shyly, Peter nods. “It’s not that I don’t, like, appreciate you checking up on me, Mr. Stark, but-“

“No, I get it,” Tony cuts in, saving the boy from his rambling. “I really do. I only wished I knew about it. Maybe I could’ve done something to help you.”

“Staying at the tower helps.”

Tony can’t help but snort, taking another look around the room. “Yeah. And here I was thinking you were trying to run away from your home because it was awful or something. But, clearly, I was wrong.” Tony doesn’t like being wrong.

“My aunt would freak out if she finds out I’m Spider-Man. And when May freaks out, I freak out.”

“Which is why you patch up your stabbing wounds at the tower. Just out of curiosity, how often do you get stabbed? Or do you just like getting stabbed?”

“No, I don’t like it,” Peter says with an eyeroll.

There are a million things Tony wants to say, a billion comments to make about that, but he pushes them away – for now, at least. Instead, he nods to the web shooters that are still attached to Peter’s wrists. “Those webs of yours. Where do they come from?”

“From me.” Tony raises an eyebrow, causing Peter to turn bright red. “I-I-I mean they don’t come _out_ of me, like, not out of my body. That would be weird. Like, super weird. No, I make them.”

“You came up with them?” Peter nods. “You? A fourteen-year-old kid? Created those webs?” Another nod from him. “Where do you even get the chemicals for them? It’s not like they really sell all that stuff at your local drug store.”

“At school. Under, uh, under my desk.”

Somehow that answer coaxes out a laugh from Tony. “You’re telling me you came up with one of the greatest things I’ve seen in years underneath your lab desk at school?”

“I wouldn’t call it one of the greatest things,” Peter mumbles, obviously uncomfortable with the praise.

“Oh, but I would call it that. For sure.”

The boy doesn’t answer, continuing to stare at his bloodied clothes. Tony’s thoughts, however, are racing again. He has a plan, or at least enough of a plan to make a proposal. Pushing himself off the desk and taking a seat on the bunk bed (careful not to bump his head against the frame), Tony looks at Peter until the boy slowly raises his head again. “Just so we’re on the same page here: I already tried to get you to stop by telling you you’re too young to do this. Would you stop if I gave you a million dollars?”

“What?” Peter only whispers, not following what the man is talking about.

“What about a billion? Would you stop being Spider-Man if I give you a billion dollars?”

“A bill- No! No, of course not. I’m not Spider-Man because I want money. I’m doing it to help people.”

Tony only nods. He hoped for that answer. “Telling you you’re too young didn’t work. Bribing you didn’t work. Clearly, there’s nothing that would make you stop being Spider-Man, right? Don’t actually answer that, it’s a rhetorical question.” Peter looks more and more confused with every word Tony says. Perfect time for the big question. “What if I would be teaching you all this superhero stuff?”

“Teaching me?” he echoes, blinking, trying to process his words.

“Yes, teaching you. Or mentoring you. Whatever you want to call it. Show you how to avoid getting stabbed so often. And, of course, getting you a new suit, because, frankly, I don’t know how anyone can take you seriously in that. Also, I’m not quite sure you’ll get all these stains out of it.”

Peter blinks some more. Tony starts to doubt if Peter really is the genius behind the webs. “Are you, like, serious right now?”

“Of course.”

“You want to help me? And make me a new suit?”

“I just said that.”

“Why? A couple of weeks ago, you screamed at me to stop.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t my finest moment back then.” Tony sniffs once, and now he’s the one unable to look into Peter’s eyes. “The stuff that I said and that I then took back… I meant it. All of it. Because you are doing good, Peter. You want to help people, simply because you can. The world needs more people like you. So, the least I can do is make sure you’re not dying because of a stab wound or whatever, right?”

Peter doesn’t answer immediately, opting to stare at the billionaire like he’s waiting for the punchline of a joke. It doesn’t come. “You’re serious.”

“I usually am, yeah. People just assume I’m not.”

“You want to teach me?”

“Yes. Seriously, did you hit your head or something? Did something happen to your ears? Or-“

“Yes!” Peter suddenly all but screams, a grin spreading on his face. “Oh my God, yes! I-I would love that!”

Tony tries to play it cool, he really tries to ignore the warmth that fills his chest at Peter’s obvious excitement about working with him. He’s not quite sure if he really manages to do that. He’s also not sure if he actually cares about it. “That’s the answer I was looking for.”

“Holy cow. Working with Iron Man. That’s like… I’m actually a big fan, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, I haven’t noticed,” he jokes, nodding his head towards all the posters on the walls. Peter blushes again in embarrassment, but the grin is still there, engraved on his face. “Now, first things first: I have so many questions I’ve been dying to ask for literal months.”

Yes, Tony absolutely hates waiting. But sometimes it’s worth it.


End file.
